


I Am Not There

by Isilanna (Betazoa)



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Episode: The Changeling, F/F, Fix-It, Nomad, Poly Relationship, Rarepair Gre'thor, Star Trek Rarepair Swap Round 12, The Other TOS Trio, f/f - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-04 20:57:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11563203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Betazoa/pseuds/Isilanna
Summary: Set during TOS "The Changeling."When the Nomad machine is brought aboard the Enterprise, it interrupts the peaceful lives of three people who are very important to one another.Written for NervousAsexual as part of the Trek Rarepair Swap - Round 12





	I Am Not There

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NervousAsexual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NervousAsexual/gifts).



Janice awoke to the sound of singing. She grumbled lightly, pulling the pillow over her head to block out the sound, which only caused a momentary pause in the song, a brief lapse which was filled by a lilting laugh instead. Nyota always laughed at her in the morning. And where was Christine? She groped around to her right, finding that side of the bed long since gone cold. It was hardly surprising, given the hours Christine put in down in the med bay while she was working on her extra certifications toward attending medical school.  
  
Still, it did leave Janice alone in the bed most mornings, awoken by the annoyingly lovely sound of her other paramour's too-bright morning mood. No one should be as joyful in the morning as Nyota, but hers was always a laughing nature. Giving in at last when she weighed the benefit of lounging in bed a few more minutes versus the humiliation of showing up to the bridge less than elegantly coiffed, she petulantly pushed the pillow aside and sat up.  
  
"You look like a ghoul when you do that, Jaybird," Nyota commented, meeting her eyes briefly in a mirror as she effortlessly lined her top eyelid and flourished it with a swoop. Janice ignored the comparison to the undead -- though she certainly felt like it most mornings -- and instead marveled at Nyota's ability to not create a wing sharp enough to kill, but also replicate it evenly on both sides. Janice could manage a passable line to accentuate her smoky look, but her real talent for beauty lay in hairdressing and she was pleased when Nyota and Christine let her style their hair whenever she'd the time to do it.  
  
Speaking of which, she really did need to get up if she was going to have time to do herself up respectably today. Sleep was high up on her list of favorite things (and #2 on her list of favorite things to do  _in bed_  specifically), but being caught outside her quarters looking plain was even higher on her list of  _least_  favorite things. Luckily, the Hairdresseter system she'd spent nearly six months' pay on was worth every credit it had cost her, and sped up the process so much that she could accomplish the most intricate of woven updos before her shift started each day.  
  
As Ny set aside her cosmetics and pulled out her dreaded translation padd -- it was far too early in the morning for any intellectual pursuit, let alone complex xenolinguistics of cultures they would probably never personally come into contact with again -- Janice took up her Hairdresseter monitor system and gloves. She slipped on the thin gloves, flexing her fingers out of habit to ensure they were fitted snugly before switching on the system. The activation unit automatically detached from the monitor and rose with a quiet hum to a spot just above her head.  
  
She inspected her hair from this perspective, still neatly contained in the protective braid she wore at night. With her eyes on the screen, her fingers began their quick, careful work of undoing the braid and starting on a new style. The activation unit's gentle beams acted as her hands where she could not otherwise have easily or deftly reached. They also responded to pre-programmed commands that she could activate with certain simple gestures, saving her time as the unit expertly lifted and wove her hair at her whim, with very little haptic input required on her part. It had taken weeks to get the programming just right, but now it took only 20 minutes each morning to compose a style that was both practical at keeping her hair contained and artistic in its expression.  
  
When she was done at last with her hair and makeup, it was nearly time to begin shift. Nyota set down her padd and they enjoyed a light breakfast together and discussed plans for the day.  
  
"Chris and I have the same lunch timeslot today," Ny mentioned, dipping a mandazi into her chai. "Are you still having lunch with M'Ress?"  
  
"Mmm," Janice confirmed over the rim of her glass of grapefruit juice. "I've hardly seen her since she got back from her shore leave."  
  
They dallied over their last few bites, loath to relinquish the private little moment before the rush of the day swept them apart, but Janice eventually picked up the dishes and set them in the synthesizer and set it for reclamation (living with a member of the senior staff had its perks). They shared a brief but sweet kiss at the door as Janice departed, her shift starting 30 minutes before Nyota's.  
  
It was with a fond smile that she headed for the Captain's quarters to go over the day's schedule and apprise him of any low-priority communications that arrived while he was off-shift. Mornings were difficult, but spending them with the woman she loved made it just a little bit easier.

 

* * *

 

Christine's padd lit up after several shockwaves rocked the ship. She could hear the doctor in his office, cursing and picking up the items that had fallen off of his desk -- the same items she had told him time after time should be secured to the surface with shipmags or stowed in a drawer for the safety of both the items and himself.  
  
After a few moments of calm had passed, Christine felt certain the trouble was past -- or at least, the turbulence was. She picked up her padd to read the message Jan had sent, only to see several others popping up in succession as her partner continued the one-sided dialogue.  
  
_> On the bridge, Ny and I are ok_  
> No one's sure what hit us  
> Not even Spock  
  
The last message made Christine's stomach churn uneasily. If even Mr. Spock wasn't certain what had attacked their ship...  
  
_> Chris it's bad_  
> Something bad is happening  
> I wish you were here with us  
  
Despite all of her training telling her she was needed here in the medbay for when casualties began coming in, she wanted nothing more than to fling the padd aside and race up to the bridge to be with Nyo and Jan. As always, she forced herself to suppress the unprofessional feeling, smoothing her dress and her countenance to present the picture of a capable and definitely-not-panicking medical professional to whoever was soon to arrive.  
  
_> Something's coming on board_  
_> I think the attack was a misunderstanding?_  
  
"Well, are you going to tell me what's going on, or am I going to sit here stupidly waiting to be blown out into space without knowing why?" Doctor McCoy's voice behind Christine made her jump, and she clutched the padd to her chest tightly.  
  
Taking a deep breath to replace the one startled out of her, she furrowed her brow in annoyance at McCoy. "There was no need to sneak up on me, Doctor."  
  
McCoy just grinned, in that way which would be charming if she didn't know that he was all too aware of it. "I wasn't sneaking. You were just too distracted comming your lovergirl there." He gestured to the padd. "Which one is it and what is she telling you about what's going on?"  
  
"Janice," Christine said, "and the situation is unclear, but it sounds like we're about to have a visitor." Before McCoy could even ask for more information she didn't have, a ship comm came through with a whistle, summoning him to the transporter room.  
  
Christine and McCoy shared a look, and then he picked up a medkit to take along with him. "M'Benga will probably be along soon," he told her on his way to the door. "No way he slept through all that racket. Hold down the fort until he gets here, and--"  
  
"I'll check the on-call list and send standby notices," she finished for him. He nodded approvingly and then was gone with the swish of the door.

 

* * *

  

Nyota was singing quietly on the bridge to calm her nerves. She'd been humming Beyond Antares for days up to this point, driving Chris and Jan to distraction, and now it made her feel a little better to sing as she worked.  
  
Something about that Nomad machine -- or creature, or whatever it was -- that they beamed on board had her on edge, especially once she heard over the comm that it had gone exploring the ship. A thinking machine was well and good, and humanity had benefited from increasingly sophisticated artificial intelligence over the last several hundred years, but one that thought itself equal to the task of judging perfection was a step too far. Not even natural beings could claim such an ability objectively.  
  
The turbolift doors open and she expected it was the Captain back, but continued working on deciphering the transmission that the Nomad unit had initially transmitted to them, fascinated with the compressed binary that Spock hadn't been able to crack. "Tomorrow the path along the way," she sang. "There's where my love--"  
  
She stopped abruptly when she saw it out of the corner of her eye: the Nomad unit, hovering directly beside her, lights flashing in a pattern she doesn't understand.  
  
"What is the meaning."  
  
Nyota only blinked at it, startled by its metallic voice and its confusing question. "What?" she replied, finding her tongue at last.  
  
"What form of communication," it asked tonelessly.  
  
"I don't know what it--" The realization hit her suddenly. "Oh, my singing. I was  _singing_." It was absurd; she could hardly believe a machine so advanced was incapable of recognizing something as simple as song.  
  
When it asked her the purpose of singing, she wasn't sure how to respond. She thought of her mother, soothingly singing her to sleep as a child; or of her family's voices joyfully uplifted together in a folk song dating back to an era before man ventured out into the stars; or of Chris and Jay, watching her with soft eyes as she crooned a Nimerian love song, hearing the intention behind it even if they can't understand the words.  
  
Eventually, she stammered out a response, clumsy words falling out of her mouth. Determinedly, she concluded by saying only, "I felt like music." What right did this intrusive machine have to make philosophical demands of her, anyway?  
  
Before she could work up a proper indignation at this presumptuous machine, it demanded an answer from her again. "What is music." It then began to emit a bright light directly in her eyes, and she felt faint, as if she was untethering from her body and floating away. Distantly she heard the command, "Think about music," but all she could think of was Jay and Chris before she no longer thought of anything at all.  
 

* * *

  
Janice burst into the medbay, having run clear across the ship when she had heard about the accident. She'd only caught a snippet of the story as she passed by the pair of gossiping ensigns who were entering Rec Room 3. "--Lieutenant Uhura? Scrambled her mind, Pascha said."  
  
She didn't know what they meant by "scrambled her mind," but it was enough to terrify her into nearly hysterical tears. Her gaze darted around the medbay, seeking out Nyota or Christine. Doctor M'Benga stepped out from a private room, and upon spotting Janice, beckoned her over. With no small amount of dread, she followed him into the room to find Nyota on a bed with Christine slumped in a chair beside her, both asleep.  
  
"Nurse Chapel was going to call you once we got Lieutenant Uhura settled, but it's been a long and trying day," he said, as if trying to explain why she had to find out from gossip that one of her partners had some kind of dire accident. But she didn't need any explanation; even in sleep Christine looked exhausted. There was nothing to even forgive her for.  
  
M'Benga discreetly exited the room, and Janice approached the bed hesitantly, desperate to understand what had happened and feeling sick at the thought of knowing. At the sound of her light footsteps, Christine awoke suddenly, blinking at her for a moment.  
  
"Jan," she said imploringly, and Janice threw herself into her partner's lap with a sob. They held each other tightly while Christine kept one hand over Nyota's where it lay quiescently on the bed.  
  
"Oh, Chrissy," Janice said, voice wavering under her hiccuping sobs. "What happened?"  
  
Christine only shook her head at first, resting her forehead against Janice's shoulder as her tears silently soaked into the red uniform. "That--that  _Nomad_  thing did this," she said into the fabric before leaning back to look up at Janice through damp eyelashes. "We don't know how, but it erased her whole memory, Jan. She doesn't know anything, she didn't even know--"  
  
_Me._  
  
Janice's hands curled into fists around the blue fabric of Christine's uniform. "How could it do that? Why would anyone--any _thing_  ever want to hurt Ny? They should have never brought that stupid,  _varsh_ ing machine on board the Enterprise!"  
  
Helplessly, Christine giggles a little at Janice's use of Ny's favorite Betazoid expletive, but then her expression turns sober. "I'm just glad she's alive. That thing killed Mr. Scott and brought him back somehow. But the four security officers--"  
  
Janice sat up straight, nearly falling off Christine's lap on the insufficient chair. "If it can bring someone back to life, can't it give her back her memory?" She swiped at the cold, disgusting tear tracks on her face with a sleeve, feeling hope surging up.  
  
Christine shook her head, though. "Even if it could, it's impossible. That thing is dead--or destroyed, or whatever. It wanted to 'cleanse' all of us and then head back to Earth to finish the rest of humanity."  
  
Pushing herself to her feet again, Janice began to pace the room, pulling her arms close to her body protectively. "I'm glad it's dead, but--" With a forlorn expression, she looked over to where Nyota lay on the bed, her mind wiped clean like a slate.  
  
Christine moved to stand beside her, wrapping her arms around Janice. "I know."  
  
"We'll get her back, won't we?" Janice asked, her voice small and broken. It was how she felt, nothing but a silly yeoman with her silly hair. What was she without Ny or Chrissy, two amazing, brilliant, accomplished women who loved her despite how pointless she was next to either of them?  
  
As if sensing her distress and self-deprecation, Christine gave her a squeeze. "We will, Jan. You and me will bring back every memory she's forgotten. We'll read her favorite books to her, and bring her to all her favorite spots on the ship, and sing all the songs she always likes to sing, and tell her about every thoughtful little gift she ever gave each of us, and--"  
  
"And we'll kiss each memory upon her lips," Janice sighed, wanting nothing more than to be holding them  _both_  right now.  
  
"Exactly," Christine said, leading Janice back to the side of the bed, and then moving around to the other side. They each took one of Nyota's hands in their own, sharing a loving look over her still form.  
  
"She'll come back to us," Christine said, and her confidence in that fact was not simply a brave front. And Janice believed her.

**Author's Note:**

> A bright note at the end for those of us who thought it was messed up how they left Nyota at the end of that episode. In case it was too ambiguous, she WILL get better and she WILL remember everything, especially the two loves of her life. The Creator Has Spoken!
> 
> Title is a line from the poem Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep by Mary Elizabeth Frye.
> 
> Feel free to check out my blog or connect with me at betazoa.tumblr.com!


End file.
